


jock-speak

by brucewaynery



Series: happy steve bingo fills [5]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 04:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucewaynery/pseuds/brucewaynery
Summary: Steve, as with everything, dances gracefully, with the control and precision Tony's seen on the football pitch. It's enchanting, watching him fly across the dance floor, oblivious to the world, Tony's never been more in love.(slow dancing, happy steve bingo)





	jock-speak

A little known fact about the school’s star quarterback is that he’s a dancer. Not street, not even contemporary, not like you’d expect, but ballet. And it’s almost comedic, if it didn’t make so much sense, hell, when Tony found out he couldn’t believe it, imagining him stuffed into a tutu and pink tights, but actually watching him, it’s enthralling, and not just because the sleek black leotard leaves deliciously little to the imagination, but because of the way he moves, so similar to how he moves on the field, yet the brute strength is far more subtle here, the strength is in holding the poses, keeping himself intact and statue-still, rather than knocking down the opponent, the speed and the agility is similarly graceful, demonstrated in a way even Tony can tell comes from years of dedication and practice. 

Tony loses himself in watching how Steve moves across the dancefloor, practically flying, perfectly to a beat only he can hear, he’s bewitched by him, and if he hadn’t already fallen so hard for him it’s a miracle he’s still intact, then he would fall for him all over again. God, this was a mistake, he can’t even remember why he’s here, but he can’t bring himself to walk away, so he watches until Steve comes to an end, eyes closed, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily, with his hair still perfectly, miraculously, coifed. Right now is a great time to get out and just send him a text about the movie they were going to watch with the gang, right now would be a great time to turn away and pretend that he hadn’t pulled a George McFly on someone who could pick him up and throw him out the tree.

The window of opportunity passes, as it often does with Tony when it comes to Steve, and all the grace and control Steve had barely half a minute ago before he opened his eyes, is gone when he sees Tony through the mirror in the door as he stumbles and that flush deepens.

He tugs out one of his earphones, letting it dangle in the middle of his chest, a bright white against his leotard, “Hey, Tony.” It’s clipped and stilted, like he’s ready for a fight. Tony knows that tone, practically invented that tone at the tender age of 5 for use against Howard, and he wants to destroy the credit rating of anyone who has ever made fun of Steve for dancing.

“You’re good,” he says, instead, a mere understatement, and he watches Steve relax a tiny bit.

“You know much about ballet?” He asks, disbelieving.

“Well,” Tony starts, caught out, though, on what, he’s not too sure, “I know enough to know that you’re good.”

When Steve opens his mouth to dispute him, as he often does when anyone tries to compliment him, ever his own critic, Tony moves forward and impulsively presses a hand over his mouth (definitely not thinking of the soft pink lips flush against his palm), “Take the compliment, Steve.”

“Mmrf mrfd mrrf mmd.”

Tony rolls his hands and lets him speak, but still keeps near him, close enough to hear his music, quiet and tinny, there’s something so, so captivating about him that he, like the moon to the earth, can’t for the life of him, move out of his orbit.

“Your hands are cold,” Steve murmurs, slipping his hands into Tony’s, warmth spreading deep into his bones and settling there.

“It’s December,” Tony says, the very first thing that comes to mind. Steve simple hums in agreement.

“You learned to dance, right?” Steve asks, running a thumb over Tony’s knuckles.

“Yeah.” Tony had told him that years ago, when they were playing twenty questions in the back of a music appraisal class in freshman year.

Steve untangles his hand from Tony’s and slips the other earbud into Tony’s ear, then rearranges them so Steve’s the lead.

He raises his eyebrows in a silent question and Tony just nods, letting him lead them across the floor. Tony has dance classes from the age of 3 to 11, and he never forgot any of it, but he feels clumsy and out of practice compared to Steve’s graceful, silent, movements.

He loses himself in the music and the movements, gradually ending up leaning his head on Steve’s chest, eyes closed, revelling in the sheer intimacy of it all.

They carry on, for as long as Ed Sheeran croons in his ear, and it’s over, all too fast, because Steve’s coming to a stop as Ed Sheeran turns into Lord Huron (and Tony’s going to have a talk with Steve about his sad playlist, but that’s for later). 

He opens his eyes to meet Steve’s, a brilliant, bright, piercing blue, and slips them shut again as they lean in. His lips are even softer than he thought and he moves them, like with everything else, with grace and control and Tony can’t help but think what he’d be like if he lost it what he’d look like, and sets off to do just that, pushing him against the cold, floor-length mirrors of the studio and taking the kiss deeper and swallowing every noise he makes.

“Boys!”

They pull apart and Tony has to take a second, because Steve looks nearly defiled, his lips are spit slicked and red and his hair is messed out of the coif and Tony can tell that he’s just on the edge of breaking and he wants to push and push but Master Erskine is looking very disapprovingly at Steve.

“Master,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair.

“Steven.”

“Won’t happen again.”

“No locker room activities in my studio.”

“Understood.”

They high-tail it into the locker room and as soon as the door clicks shut behind them Tony’s pushing Steve against it.

“Are locker room activities going to be a regular occurrence?” Tony asks, in between kisses.

“Doesn’t just have to be in the locker room, or these specific activities,” Steve says, breathless.

“Is that jock-speak for asking me out?”

“Is that nerd-talk for yes?”

**Author's Note:**

> please like/[reblog](https://au-ti.tumblr.com/post/188697473291/jock-speak)/comment if u enjoyed <33


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